


Hamilteasers- A collection of prompts, scenes, and ficlets

by StegesaurusKay



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Additional Tags In Chapters, Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Whump, lots of unrelated scenes and ficlets, pairings can be romantic or not- you decide, some AU, some Canon Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-01-12 08:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18442592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StegesaurusKay/pseuds/StegesaurusKay
Summary: A collection of unrelated 500-word short works from tumblr prompts and requests.





	1. Prompt- Delirious

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've begun stockpiling a lot of 500 word fics on my tumblr and I decided to share them here as well. I'm currently taking requests so feel free to find me on tumblr at [Stege-Kay](http://stegekay.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> This series has a bunch of random stories with a lot of focus on whump/angst. Stories are kept in the PG-13 range. 
> 
> Chapter 1 warnings: Illness. Fluff. That's all.

Hamilton squints up at the fluid figure hovering over him. His brow furrows, lips press together. A cough, he tilts his head and tries to will the form to take more familiar a shape. He was asked a question, but he cannot recall what it was. _I’ve forgotten what you asked of me_ seems a poor response. 

“I needed to stretch my legs, get some air.”

Yes. Good. That sounds close enough to normal to stave off unwelcome attentions.

“That’s not what I asked you, my boy.”

Whoops.

Hamilton realizes he may be sick. He’s too hot, he aches, his throat feels like he’s swallowed hot coals. He says something out loud, but his mind fails to process his own words.

Definitely sick, then.

The fuzzy form crouches low and hums a sound of concern. This close Alexander starts and recognizes who’s been speaking to him.

He croaks a painful, pathetic laugh. Certainly he’s out of it if he is seeing General Washington stooped in front of him. He tells the vision as much.

The mirage-General shifts his weight and moves a hand against Alexander’s forehead. Delirious or no, the concern in the man’s face is evident as he lets his palm linger. Garbled words float past his ears.

It’s harder to lift his head, “Hm?”

“I asked how long you’ve felt poorly.”

A simple enough question. Alexander knows he’s been running on next to nothing for a while, but how many days? When did it start? He blinks at the imagined-General. “What day is this?”

There’s a huff and a few more words, and Hamilton thinks he’s offended the hallucination somehow.

Then he’s being held, carried, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, another under his knees. Hamilton lets out a laugh that quickly dissolves wracking coughs.

“S’my imagination,” He wheezes once he’s regained control of his lungs. He _must be delirious_. The General is busy, far too busy with planning and spies and resolving their lack of provisions. The General does not have time to tend to one sick soldier.

“Better to tend to a sick soldier now than replace a man who worked himself to death.”

Hamilton chuckles again. This mirage General is very similar to the real one- he’s been scolded for this before. If he could rest his eyes for a few minutes, he’s sure he’ll be able to focus, able to work. He says it.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort, son.”

“Not your-“ He starts, but as he’s placed on something soft that cool palm finds his cheek. He lets himself lean into it as his own thin fingers curl around larger ones. His own imagination has never been this kind to him. 

Later he will not recall what he said after closing his eyes, the fever drawing out more unchecked words. 

There’s a fond sigh. The hand smooths his hair. “Rest now, Alexander.”

Hamilton mumbles something, maybe an agreement, maybe a protest, but he is not awake long enough to hear the reply.


	2. Prompt- Kidnapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 warnings: Light violence, drugging, kidnapping

The first thing that strikes Hamilton as strange, is that he does not recognize the messenger. The young man rushes into the room they’ve been using as an office, breathing hard and carrying a sealed note tight in his hand. There’s a long moment where Alexander stares at him before rising from his seat and work at the table. 

“You can leave that with me,” Hamilton says, tone short, professional, as he closes the distance between them, extending his hand for the message. He comes up with a polite smile. “I’ll see that his Excellency receives it as soon as it returns.”

“When are you expecting him?” The messenger glances past him into the next room. He holds out his hand, but doesn’t release his missive. 

Alexander replies with a shrug and glances down at the note, still not handed over. “He’s gone on a patrol. I suspect he’ll be another couple of hours.”

“And you’re here alone?”

Hamilton’s smile fades. 

“You are, aren’t you, Colonel Hamilton?”

Hamilton barely has time to register the smarmy smile that settles over the messenger’s lips before realizing something is very wrong.

The first strike catches him off guard. The man is taller, larger, stronger. When he swings his satchel, propelling weight forward with it, Hamilton is knocked off balance. He stumbles back against the work table. The messenger is on top of him a moment later.

Hamilton bucks against his attacker and managers to free a leg. He plants a solid kick against the man’s side and hauls himself upright as the messenger staggers back a couple steps. Hamilton bolts for the open door- if he can get outside there’s bound to be someone else around.

The man pursuing is not British, maybe a Ranger. He knows what he’s doing, that’s for sure. Suddenly there is a hand in his hair, twisting, yanking back. Hamilton loses his footing and falls back against the man’s chest.

A sour smelling cloth abruptly covers his mouth and nose before he can cry out from the sting in his scalp. Hamilton coughs against the powerful scent a few times before the dizziness sets in and the world begins to blur. He’s pulled against something solid as the cloth is held firm. 

“There we are,” The messenger speaks right against his ear, then chuckles. “Just a couple of deep breaths. This is normally used on chickens and pigs, but it looks like it has the same effect on a man.”

He feels dizzy, so dizzy. The pungent smell is overwhelming. Hamilton is vaguely aware of his knees beginning to buckle. When they refuse to support him any longer he doesn’t fall. He’s held firm as darkness descends over him. He cannot keep his eyes open.

“Good lad. Your General wants you alive. We’ll see how much he’s willing to pay to keep you that way.”

The cloth is gone, but Hamilton does not have the wherewithal to be grateful. The words swirl together and unconsciousness claims him completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've begun stockpiling a lot of 500 word fics on my tumblr and I decided to share them here as well. I'm currently taking requests so feel free to find me on tumblr at [Stege-Kay.](http://stegekay.tumblr.com/)


	3. Sci Fi AU- Amnesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 warnings: Vague sci fi technology because sci fi, self-loathing and angst

It's too late by the time they find him. They locate, infiltrate the enemy starship as planned, the rescue mission goes off with hardly a shot fired, everything according to plan, save one important detail. 

They couldn't save all of the man they went to save.

“We'll figure out a way to help you. Just know you're safe now, son.”

The blank look George Washington gets in return makes his stomach flip. The boy hates it when he's called son and George knows it. Maybe he was hoping for some instinctive reaction, but he gets nothing save for a long, wide eyed stare; blank and lost and…

_Helpless._

George glances at the drive on his desk. It's outdated equipment, but thanks to quick thinking on the part of someone in the rescue party, it holds the boy's memories- whatever they were able to salvage from unfamiliar technology.

Hamilton is alive, physically fine. Yet his entire life up to three hours ago is locked on that drive, and each path forward is riskier than the last. It's been made clear- abundantly so, that the slightest misstep in proceeding could cause permanent damage, or worse. In short there is no undoing what's been done. 

A large portion of George wants vengeance, to track down the creatures responsible and attack until nothing is left. More than that he is furious with himself for allowing the boy to end up in this situation. The original mission was not dangerous, and Hamilton had volunteered to go. There’s no way any of them could have known of the attack.

And yet, George blames himself, _hates_ himself for it. If only he’d told Hamilton no. If he’d given some other task to focus that boundless energy on. If—

“—Sir?”

George abruptly lifts his head. Hamilton studies him with an uncertainty in his eyes that the commander has never seen before. The boy _fidgets_ , his posture is nervous. He looks to the sliding door behind him and then back. 

“I- they didn’t tell me what I’m supposed to do next.” His voice is small, unsure.

It takes a great effort, but George pushes the self-loathing aside for the moment. “Apologies, my boy. I’m sure you’d like to rest now- you’ve been through a lot today.” _He’s been through too much_. “We can speak more later. You’re dismissed, Hamilton.”

The words themselves are easy, he’s said them all before, and after he turns back to his desk as he does after dismissing any member of his crew. The screen on the desk scrolls dozens of messages past, but George cannot find the will to focus on any. Behind him the door does not open.

“Sir…?” The voice is hesitant this time.

George turns back to him..

Hamilton bites his lip, “I… don’t know where my quarters are.”

That does it. His chest hurts, eyes sting as he crosses the room to where Hamilton stands.

“Of course, son.” 

George will never be able to forgive himself.

“I’ll show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna know a secret? Amnesia/mental attacks/manipulation are pretty much my top angsty tropes. There, now it's not a secret.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I've been stockpiling 500 word fics on my tumblr and decided to share them here as well. I'm currently taking requests, so feel free to find me on tumblr at [Stege-Kay. ](http://stegekay.tumblr.com/)


	4. Prompt- Broken Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 warnings: Non-graphic description of a broken bone and setting of said bone. Also fluff. Additional Warning- author has very little medical knowledge.
> 
> Also, hey, finally a Lams story~

John chews his lip before lifting his head to Alexander.

“It’s broken.”

Alexander thumps his head back against the wet grass and screws his eyes shut, “No kidding,” His face pales, twists in a grimace when John finds the break. He hisses and dissolves into a string of curses as fingers probe at his injured leg.

“Next time pay better attention to your surroundings, dear boy,” John keeps his tone light.

Some kindness prevents Laurens from mentioning Alexander’s embarrassing fall after tripping over an over-sized root. Hamilton cracks an eye open, “Perhaps if you’d warned me that— _shit_!”

John pulls his hand back and gives him a sympathetic look, ignoring that last comment. “I can set it, but it’s going to hurt.”

A short nod, “Do it.”

John doesn’t say anything, but his hands are gentle and for a few seconds he nearly forgets he’s on his back in muddy, dank woods with a broken leg.

And then that calm is interrupted. Laurens jams a piece of bark between his teeth and grips his leg tight. He gives a count of one and then pulls. Something snaps and the world blurs white.

When his senses return to him Alexander is propped against a tree trunk. Short pieces of wood, either side of his leg to mid-calf, held secure by both of their cravats. John sits next to him on the ground. He offers a canteen still half full. “Drink,” He says, insistent. “I wasn’t expecting you to pass out.”

With a quick warning glance at John- a silent threat that should he ever repeat that fact he’ll regret it, Alexander takes the canteen and a long drink. 

“If you feel like you won’t swoon again—”

“I do not _swoon_!”

“You did, Ham. But, if you feel up to moving we ought to. I’m sure we’re still being followed and I’d hate to die unarmed and unable to put up a fight.”

“Find me a walking stick and I can manage.”

“You’re walking nowhere,” John scoffs, he sits up, motions to the splint. “I can’t have my good work ruined.”

He doesn’t reply, but Laurens makes a point. Even if he can get to his feet Alexander doubts he’ll be able to bear any weight.

“I’ll carry you,” John suggests. 

There’s an indignant flash of red across Alexander’s cheeks, “I’ll not be carried like-“

“A swooning damsel?”

Alexander bites back an insult. He loathes the idea of having to be carried back to camp, but he understands their lack of options- they have no horses, no shelter, no supplies.

A minute and several awkward movements and curses later Alexander is pressed against John’s back, warms wrapped around his shoulders while John’s arms hook carefully under his legs.

“We speak of this to no one,” Alexander mutters, his face half buried in Laurens’ coat. He doesn’t get an answer, but as John begins to walk he thinks maybe there are worse things than being carried.

Not that he’ll ever tell anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've begun stockpiling a lot of 500 word ficlets on my tumblr and I decided to share some here. I'm currently taking requests, so feel free to find me on tumblr at [Stege-Kay.](http://stegekay.tumblr.com/)


	5. Baseball AU- Recovering from Surgery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This comes from a Baseball AU series I'm currently working on starring overly cocky but talented rookie second baseman Alex and club manager Washington. I haven't named the team yet, but I'm really excited about writing this set of stories.
> 
> Chapter 5 warnings: Non-specific injury, mention of surgery, stitches.

“Don’t push it, son. Plenty of players dealt with injuries their rookie year and went on to become greats.” Wash tries to keep his tone light. “Injuries take time to heal, even when you’re young.”

Next to him Alex grumbles an impolite reply. The boy is slumped against the back of the bench, hands dug into his hoodie and staring with ridiculous and glaring intensity at the slow play on the field to avoid actual conversation. By days on the injury list, Alex is eligible to play the last two games of the season, but Wash has already forbidden it.

Thus the silent treatment.

“Better to take your time now than regret what could have been a great career in twenty years.”

Alex huffs again, gives a sideways glare and mutters, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Wash says.

Alex squirms, glares harder at the field. Wash can tell he wants to argue, but the kid can’t find the words for it.

A foul ball snaps toward them. Wash jerks one way and Alex the other as the ball clangs against a metal bar in front of the dugout, then rolls harmlessly away. Wash sits up. Alex doesn’t. The boy slowly curls in on himself, teeth clenched tight as the color drains from his face. His hands cover his side where there were stitches less than a week ago.

Wash is on his feet in a second, “Alex?” A handful of others in the dugout are up just as quick. Wash waves them off.

It takes a few seconds for the boy to process; his eyes open a little, find Wash’s, his mouth moves as he fights to take in air.

Wash doesn’t wait. He scoops Alex into his arms, tries to ignore the pitiful wheeze that escapes him at the movement. There are certainly eyes and cameras watching now, but he doesn’t stall as he carries Alex down the steps to the locker room.

By the time Alex is lying on a cot in McHenry’s office he’s found the breath to let out a groan. There are tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Alex slowly uncurls as Wash pulls up a chair.

“S’fine,” He wheezes. Alex lifts an arm to cover his eyes, but the fingers of his other hand curl around his injured side. “Just’a cramp.”

Wash doesn’t say anything. He’s struggling to hold back panic and anger. There’s no fault here, but Wash’s heart pounds and his throat is tight. He feels the same as a few weeks back, stuck in a hospital waiting room with no news and the worst looming in his mind.

Fingers curl around his and squeeze tight and Wash focuses again on Alex. The boy’s lips are pressed in a thin line, muscles taught, eyes wet, breath ragged through his nose.

“M’fine,” He tries to sound insistent, but the crack in his voice betrays him.

Wash takes his hand in a firmer grip and offers a careful squeeze in return.

“You will be, son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've been stockpiling 500 word fics on my tumblr and decided to share them here as well. I'm currently taking requests, so feel free to find me on tumblr at [Stege-Kay. ](http://stegekay.tumblr.com/)


	6. Prompt- Bleeding through Bandages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 warnings: Vague descriptions of blood and non-specific injury, light!Whamilton

When Hamilton checks the state of the bandages for the third time his fingers come away coated in red. He stares at his hand a few seconds before letting it drop into his lap. The blood is warm, and warmth means life. Alexander clings to that notion as he struggles to find any hope in their situation.

Harsh wind shakes the door of the unfamiliar hut and Alexander briefly tightens his grip on the pistol held in his other hand. A scratching, creaking moan sounds under the gap, and then fades away. Just the wind.

Hamilton sits, leans against the pallet behind him. His movement doesn’t disturb General Washington. The man doesn’t move, doesn’t stir. Alexander shifts his position so he can see his chest rise and fall in the poor light. He needs the assurance that life is still there.

“I don’t know if it’s possible to remain here all night, sir. It’s difficult to tell if this place is typically occupied.”

Alexander breaks the stillness because he cannot take silence any longer. There’s no answer. He isn’t expecting one. He knows the General is injured- it’s bad- he’s done all he knows how.

And he’s still bleeding.

Everything he’s tried and it isn’t enough.

“I doubt I can carry you back to camp.”

The thought is laughable without consideration to their difference in size. Hamilton isn’t even sure where they are. He was so focused on keeping his struggling General upright as they walked that he gave little attention to their surroundings once he spotted the hut.

“I had thought about studying medicine, maybe- when I was a boy,” A pause. Hamilton glances at the bandages under a ruined waistcoat and frowns. “I don’t seem to have much of a knack for it, do I?”

It’s not something Alexander would usually admit. He’s adept at most things he puts his mind to. But this- he’s tried, and it’s not enough and he knows it and…

“Nobody’s remembered for dying in a dingy place like this. Our cause cannot end here.”

Hamilton’s heart pounds heavy in his chest, eyes fixed on what he can see of the bloodied bandages. There’s nowhere left for the red stain to spread. His eyes shift to the man’s too pale face.

“You cannot die here, sir.”

Nothing.

The General should not seem so fragile.

Alexander shifts, sets his weapon aside, close enough that he can reach it should he need it. Though Washington shows no sign of waking, he takes great care in climbing onto the pallet next to him. The chill in his bones fades as he curls against the unconscious form. Careful to avoid the wound, he places his hand higher, spreads his fingers wide against the General’s chest.

The heartbeat is there, it’s strong, it’s _life_.

Hamilton lets his eyes close.

He doesn’t sleep, just listens to the wind while steady rhythm beats against his palm.

Where there is life there is hope and that has to count for something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've begun stockpiling a lot of 500 word fics on my tumblr and I decided to share them here as well. I'm currently taking requests so feel free to find me on tumblr (and read stories three days earlier) at [Stege-Kay.](http://stegekay.tumblr.com/)


	7. Prompt- Concussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 warnings- Nothing much to say, a headache, and a whole lot of spite between the Sec. Treasury and the Sec. State.

The world comes back into focus in a most unpleasant way. Colors blur and swirl when Alexander half opens his eyes, and he quickly closes them again as bile rises in his throat. There’s a vague recollection of feeling ill, falling, a sharp pain in his head and-

Oh, his head _really_ hurts.

His groan of pain registers in his ears. There’s a movement, scraping.

Alexander dares open one eye to seek out the source of the sound. It takes nearly a minute, his mind sluggish and head aching, to comprehend what he sees.

Thomas Jefferson, of all people, sits nearby, a thick book open in his lap. His eyes are on Alexander before he can fully take in the absurdity of it, one brow raised in a judgmental expression. The Secretary of State flips his book closed, leaving two fingers in the pages to hold his spot.

“So you are alive,” Jefferson comments dryly. Alexander hears a tone of disappointment there, but Jefferson goes on before he can protest. “I told the President there was nothing to worry about. A fall like that can’t do much damage to someone hard headed as you.”

Another groan creeps out of his throat. Alexander has a vague recollection of dizziness, falling, his head connecting with something solid.

“He should be back soon.”

“Who?”

A sigh, “The President. I know you’ve nearly scrambled your brains, Hamilton, but try to keep up. He asked me, once you were awake, to ensure you stay that way until he returns.”

Alexander shifts against the couch he’s lying on. It’s comfortable, much as he’d loathe to admit, and he mutters a sound of agreement to which Jefferson responds with… well, he isn’t sure. There’s a vague droning, Jefferson reading something from his book- not all familiar words. He opens his mouth to silence him, but the words don’t come, and he tries to move to face the other way.

Nausea creeps up on him, the ocean abruptly roars in his ears. Alexander heaves and grips the edge of the couch. He leans over, but nothing happens.

“—first to be discovered by a telescope. And,” Jefferson pauses, but barely glances up from his reopened book. “Hamilton, if you feel so inclined to vomit on my floor…”

“I do.”

_“-Don’t.”_

Alexander grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. It lessens the pounding in his head a little. “It’s the sound of your voice that sickens me. If you don’t wish me to be ill, stop talking.”

“No can-do,” He shoots back. Yet Jefferson’s chair scrapes the floor again, and when Alexander opens his eyes he realizes he’s moved a bit further away. Good- Alexander would purposely make himself ill if he knew it would drive the man away.

“Your voice doesn’t exactly inspire me to remain conscious.”

“So long as you’re awake, I don’t much care what you think of it, Hamilton.”

“Go to hell.”

“If this isn’t it right here, then I must admit I’ve found somewhere worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've begun stockpiling a lot of 500 word fics on my tumblr and I decided to share some of them here as well. I'm currently taking requests so feel free to find me on tumblr (and read stories three days earlier) at [Stege-Kay.](http://stegekay.tumblr.com/)


	8. Prompt- Near Death Experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 Warnings- Nothing really to speak of beyond the prompt. But I did see Avengers: Endgame and had to edit and post some serious whump.

It’s strange. Alexander has the distinct notion that he should be in pain. He is lying on the ground, flat on his back. The sky overhead is clear and bright and blue, but marred by wisps of smoke and patches of dark dancing in front of his eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again. There’s no improvement. He should be hurting, he’s sure he should.

He was shot.

He feels nothing. It should hurt, shouldn’t it?

Suddenly there are hands on him, pulling him half upright. The world tilts and the air disappears from his lungs.

A shape comes into view, someone leaning over him. He should know the face hovering over his, focused dark eyes and a brow furrowed in concern.

“ _—ilton_. Stay with me, my boy. _Breathe_.”

He blinks- blinking should not take so much energy. It’s hard to focus on the words, on the face in front of him.

“Sir,” Alexander breathes out the word, not sure if there’s any real sound- he certainly does not hear it. He opens his mouth again, struggling for words. Why doesn’t it hurt? Why can’t he feel anything?

The world shifts again. Then the General is carrying him, hurrying from the battlefield.

Then he’s laid down. He doesn’t feel the General’s palm press down hard against his chest.

Why doesn’t it hurt? 

Alexander tries to focus on the General leaning over him. Something strange lies in his expression- he’s never seen such distress in his eyes. General Washington fears nothing. The look Alexander sees now is enough to frighten him, too. It takes some concentration, a great deal of effort. He lifts his hand…

And clasps it over the General’s.

Washington abruptly tenses and stares down at Alexander.

He wants to tell it’s all right, that he doesn’t feel anything, but his voice doesn’t work. An odd sensation pulses in his chest- his lungs won’t work either.

Finally Alexander understands the fear in the General’s eyes, realizes why he doesn’t feel anything.

The realization isn’t even all that startling: He’s dying.

A beat; the intensity in Washington’s eyes morphs into desperation. “Don’t you dare!” Each word is an order, firm and heavy with emotion. “Come on, boy, breathe. Keep breathing.”

He can’t. Blackness encroaches on his vision, spreading with finality as it darkens everything save his General’s face.

“ _Alexander._ ”

There’s been a strange ringing in his ears, but even that fades now. That hand holds firm against his torso.

He told his General he was willing to die for their cause. Alexander wonders if he’s proved himself brave enough, useful enough. He wonders if his name will be remembered

It’s too difficult to make out Washington leaning over him now, but he hears his voice- one word tumbling into the next so quickly that Alexander cannot make them out.

And then he’s floating in a quiet, dark nothing.

_Alexander!_

A pressure, something solid, heavy against his chest.

“You cannot do this, not now.”

Suddenly, it hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've begun stockpiling a lot of 500 word fics on my tumblr and I decided to share some of them here as well. I'm currently taking requests so feel free to find me on tumblr (and read stories three days earlier) at [Stege-Kay.](http://stegekay.tumblr.com/)


	9. Prompt- Brainwashed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 warnings- Historically inaccurate brain washing/gaslighting/mind control... all prompts I really enjoy because I'm a bad person. No names are mentioned here, but it should be pretty easy to figure who is who.

At first they keep him so plied with some kind of drug that leaves his mind trapped in a semi-permanent haze. Plotting escape is difficult, and actually attempting it near impossible. He can barely sit up on his own, let alone stand.

Somehow he finds the wherewithal to try it once, manages to pad barefoot into a dark hallway. His footsteps are uneven, clumsy; he trips over a table and ends up in a heap on the floor. Too loud.

He’s found immediately.

“Escort the boy back to his room,” The voice looms overhead. It’s impossible to look up, to put a face to the words.

He’s dragged, rough, tossed on a hard pallet. A hand grasps his jaw, pours a bitter warm liquid down his throat. Words, voices fade, unintelligible. 

Time passes- he has no idea how long. The room is always the same incomplete dim, it never changes. His head is always the same: swirling, heavy.

“Do you know where you are?”

He doesn’t.

“Come boy. Give us your name.”

He can’t. A man should know his name, shouldn’t he?

Voices, there are always voices. Sometimes they speak to him. Other times they just linger above. He wonders if he even remembers how to speak- it seems at present he can only listen. He doesn’t always understand the words.

More of that bitter drink is poured down his throat. Again and again- no more attempts at escape. Thinking is troublesome enough.

The world is nothing but blurred darkness and far away voices.

And then- light. It hurts his eyes. He blinks them open, face buried against a coat. A flash of a blue sleeve. He’s hauled to his feet, unsteady. Hands hold tight. The face in front of him is blurred, too bright, unrecognizable in the brilliance.

A grin, a flash of teeth. So bright.

“You’ll do this for me, won’t you boy?”

He squints against the bright, confusion ringing in his mind. But still, his mouth opens- he must answer.

“I will.”

He follows, bare feet in cold mud, plods along on unsteady legs.

The building is familiar- should it be? He doesn't know, can't remember. It's hard to think.

Cool metal presses against his hands, fingers curl around the barrel. Another flash of teeth.

“You remember what to do?”

Does he?

His mouth answers on its own.

“Yes.”

A pat on the shoulder, “Good boy.”

Next he knows he's standing in a room- he might know it, maybe he should, but it's _so hard to think_.

There's a man behind the desk, the first face he's seen clearly in ages. He stares down at him, braces against the desk to hold himself upright.

_“Alexander?”_

Stunned emotion. Familiarity. Why? He draws his gun. Takes aim.

This is what he's supposed to do.

_Stop._

The man freezes.

His finger hovers over the trigger. He hesitates.

Why? _Why?_

The man's hand covers his, tries to pull the weapon away.

“You're safe now, son.”

He never hears the gun fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've begun stockpiling a lot of 500 word fics on my tumblr and I decided to share some of them here as well. I'm currently taking requests so feel free to find me on tumblr (and read stories three days earlier) at [Stege-Kay.](http://stegekay.tumblr.com/) I'm temporarily out of 500-word prompts, but I'm working on a few other projects and I have a vacation coming up in two weeks~


End file.
